Chasing the Sunset
by Lady Eldaelen
Summary: The topic of my first Nanowrimo attempt, 2004. A pathetic final word count, but good times nonetheless. Just exploring the future a bit, beginning when the timelines diverged. The end of the story is nowhere in sight.
1. Prologue

Note: The characters depicted below are not mine, nor am I in any way legally associated with Dragonball Z, Akira Toriyama or their respective companies' shareholders.

* * *

**Chasing the Sunset  
**by Lady Eldaelen

Gohan was born in the spring of a long awaited peacetime, barely a year after the 23rd World Martial Arts Tournament. His father had walked away from that particular tournament as the victor, but the fact that he had won at the relatively young age of nineteen was hardly much of a surprise. Gohan's father had already been creating quite a stir throughout the world for years. The legendary Son Goku was, in fact, one of the main reasons that Earth had not yet been lost to some would-be tyrant.

Gohan's fondest memories involved sitting on his father's lap, looking up into bright eyes that were always laughing. His father was a born storyteller; he could still recall entire monologues, wonderful stories woven from real events that he never tired of hearing. His father always started out with a little history, insisting that Gohan appreciate the past at least as much as he enjoyed the present.

Their planet was still young in the eyes of the rest of the universe, Gohan recalled his father saying, and back at very beginning of their place in universal history, it was considered even more ambitious and reckless. This idea had been bolstered throughout the years by many thoughtless decisions of the world's leaders. What else but an adolescent civilization would make war with itself? Indeed, just about all of Goku's accomplishments, before Gohan was born, had been dealing with the threats that had come from within Earth's own boundaries. Gohan's stomach had always lurched when his father spoke of those First Adventures; he never understood how his father had survived everything. Goku agreed that by all accounts he should not have lasted as long as he did through some of the more dangerous battles, but somehow he managed to walk away. And he always spoke with the utmost respect about the One he believed had direct involvement with those outcomes.

Most people weren't certain that He even existed as more than just a fable like holiday sprites or monsters under a bed. He remained rather invisible to the lives that He guarded, although He was as real as they were. It was Kami's prerogative as Guardian of the Earth to do as He chose. Gohan had loved hearing about the god of their planet more than anything else his father talked about. How He watched over every single person and living thing, taking interest in the smallest details of life. Above all, his father emphasized, Kami looked out for the best interest of not just the earth, but of its individuals as well.

Gohan was four years old when the universe finally decided that Earth had matured enough to be allowed to play her hand on a galactic level. Goku stopped telling new stories after that time, but Gohan hardly noticed the change. He was now taking part in writing Earth's history, too.

The first trial came in the form of a long-lost relative, and Earth and her defenders did not fare well. With his father gone, Gohan was left to take his place. He had never met the real Kami, but from his father's tales, he knew that Piccolo, the one who began training him, was somehow related -and connected- to Him. In Gohan's mind, that was close enough; like his father, he trusted Kami would make sure he was ready for anything. And when his own test came a year later, he was not disappointed. He didn't like the actual fighting, but on some level, Gohan felt honored and privileged to be considered an equal among the people that he had spent his whole life looking up to, the heroes in his father's stories.

Earth passed her second trial, not with flying colors, but well enough to formulate a small renegade counterattack. Her inhabitants took to the stars, to pick their own fight off-planet. The journey was unknown to all but the few warriors who fought in it and the One who sent them there. After a terribly brutal affair, the survivors returned, once again victorious. Word quickly spread that Earth was quite the formidable power. There were a few new stories about others who had tried to assert their dominance, but they all had happy endings, for Earth always managed to defend herself.

And life continued on once more.

* * *

2/14/2005 


	2. Chapter 1

Note: The characters depicted below are not mine, nor am I in any way legally associated with Dragonball Z, Akira Toriyama or their respective companies' shareholders.

* * *

_"This is the third time this month, Chiko." _

_"I gotta keep you busy somehow."_

_"I'm a social worker, not a private eye. Doesn't it get old, running all the time?"_

_"Doesn't it get old, chasing after me all the time? When will you learn to just leave me alone?"_

_"When you learn to let someone take care of you for a change."_

_"That's not fair."_

_"You are seven years old. If it's in your best interest -which it is, by the way-I don't have to be fair."_

_"I'm not going back."_

_"I agree. That was poor planning on my part. They weren't a good match for you. How about we try something different? You pick where you'd like to live, and I'll find a family that fits your needs."_

_"What's the catch?"_

_"You stay there for a year. No problems, no running."_

_"That's an awfully long time… One seventh of my life."_

_"I didn't think you stayed put long enough to learn math yet."_

_"Just goes to show how much I really need your idea of a family."_

_"Would you rather go back to the orphanage?"_

_"No. Never."_

_"So what do you say to my deal?"_

_"What happens after the year is up?"_

_"Hopefully you'll be inclined to stay-"_

_"-Fat chance of that-"_

_"-but if not, the options are limited on my end."_

_"I won't go back there. I'll run for good."_

_"That's what I'm trying to prevent."_

_"Is that what you told Roy?"_

_"He's doing very well at his boarding school."_

_"I don't believe you. That's how he ended up with us. He ran from the place his parents stuck him in. He hated it there."_

_"Then how come he hasn't run from this one? It's been three years."_

_"He's lying."_

_"I think we both know that's not true… Look, I'm letting you call the shots this time. When you run, where are you trying to go? Tell me and I'll get you there… Whether or not you believe me, Chiko, I'm on your side. I just want to see you happy."_

_"The mountains. I heard they were beautiful this time of year."_

* * *

**Chasing the Sunset  
**by Lady Eldaelen

**Chapter 1**

The North Summit Mountain District. One of the most uninhabited areas left in the country, but for those that did live there, it was as close to heaven as they would ever see on Earth. Perfectly tempered climate, stunning landscapes as far as the eye could see, sweet smelling air untouched by the fingers of urban pollution. For the few vacationers that braved the raw terrain, they wouldn't doubt that Kami himself held the area as his personal favorite. Still holding the title of Earth's Guardian, Kami would have to agree. He had long since taken interest in this mountain paradise… but not just for the scenery.

This day in particular was an ideal example of the best the area had to offer. Soft wisps of cloud marbleized the crystal blue sky. A gentle breeze tickled the treetops and sent ripples flowing through the grassy plains. Birds chirped their occasional song, dinosaurs took their occasional afternoon romp, fish flopped their occasional jump for joy. Kami could not have asked for a more perfect day.

He also would not have been farther from the truth about the happenings on His world. For at that moment, things were about as perfect as shattered glass. Especially for one particular boy residing in the middle of the idyllic mountain land.

* * *

The room was quiet and stuffy; heavy drapes covered the windows blocking out the beautiful day and suffocating the occupants housed within the walls. No one really noticed, as there were more pressing matters at hand.

He had come into the world virtually undetected, found as an orphan and raisedby an eccentric old recluse. His life was far from ordinary, but things such as normality meant little to him. At the end of the day, it wasn't his elite fighting status or the number of times he had saved the world, what mattered most was being able to tuck his son in at night with a story and a smile. But after a lifetime of sacrifice and protection for others as well as his family, he was defeated by his own body, an incurable infection. And without fanfare or publicity, Son Goku, husband of Chi Chi, father of Gohan, willing protector favored in the eyes of the Guardian, passed out of this world and into the next.

Tears slipped down her face and onto the freshly waxed floor, no longer hindered by care or a front. She sobbed quietly, still holding her lover's hand, knowing he would never again squeeze hers back in return. Son Chi Chi was a widow for good.

As the first sprinkling of liquid pain hit the floor beside his mother, Gohan felt his own insides crumble. His father was gone. The strong presence that had been so weakened by recent illness was now nothing more than a memory to his senses. He wanted to go comfort his mother, but for some reason he remained firmly planted at the foot of the bed. His feet refused to respond to any forward movement despite the desperate cries his brain sent out.

The door opened softly as Bulma slipped out. A longtime friend of the family, Gohan could hear her choking sobs as she confirmed what the others in the living room had been expecting, had already felt. Yet he still did not move. Not to rest a hand on his mother's shoulder and get a hug to ease both their troubled hearts. Not to touch his father one last time as the body began fading out of focus as it disappeared. Not even to close the door and shut out the low murmurs of his father's reminiscing friends. His father befriended just about anyone he came in contact with, but the ones in the house now were the ones he had worked and trained with. Ones he had fought for and against - ones that he trusted his own life with. Over the past few years, Gohan had grown accustomed to them hanging around the house; they were the uncles he never had. But now they comforted each other with the stories his father should have been narrating.

One lone tear traced the contours of his cheek and he angrily mashed it away with a clenched fist. And in that moment, Gohan was the first to feel the pressure in the room. His eyes darted between his mother, the empty bed, the open door, the drawn curtains. If he didn't escape soon, he was going to suffocate. With a burst of emotions, he took one last glance at the bed before running out of the room and blasting into the sky.

No one followed him, nor would they have been able to keep up with him if they had. Son Gohan was a mess of pain and power -a very volatile combination for him- and his control was slipping faster than he carried himself over the mountains. After an amazingly short flight, he managed to escape civilization before pausing for a breather. With a gut-wrenching cry he dropped out of the air and fell to the ground. Exhausted by the events of the day, Gohan finally let the tears fall.

He cried until his eyes refused to produce the necessary moisture. Sorrow gave way under the fiery anger that swelled soon after. What was Kami thinking? How could He let this happen? Gohan had been under the assumption that Kami thought fairly highly of their family, probably more so than a Guardian should. Maybe, he thought bitterly, this was His twisted way of finally setting the balance straight.

Gohan knew he was walking a thin line, razor sharp and just as dangerous. He hadn't felt this way in years, as if he was losing control of his reality. Back then he had a mission to keep his focus strong. He hada purpose, a goal. Other people had depended on him. His own father had trusted him to follow through. Now, however, he was just a lost little boy. A fatherless little boy. After all he'd done in his few short years, he didn't deserve this. His friends did not deserve this. His mother did not deserve this. Nobody did.

Gohan pounded the ground with his fist. The absence of his father's presence ate away until there was nothing left. The ground gave way in protest as his fists slammed into it again and again until two craters remained even when he pulled back. Gohan's entire body was visibly shaking now, and he had to stop torturing his hands to keep from toppling over. His tears returned, but he couldn't tell if it was from the bruised and bloody knuckles or the ache he felt inside.

His vision was blurring now, the anger boiled away by hatred so deep that he startled himself with its intensity. He tried halfheartedly to push it aside, but in some dark corner of his mind, he honestly did not want it to stop. It was childish he knew, to throw temper tantrums and stubbornly hold onto feelings that would unavoidably creep up. But he _was_ a child… and he had spent too much of his childhood acting more grown up than most adults. His mother threw fits of rage all the time. He was due for one. It was his turn.

With each breath, the desire burned brighter. He couldn't stop, the hatred scorched his soul until he had no choice but to let it burn. He could feel it torturing his already raw heart; it poisoned his mind, swirling everything together into an all-consuming vortex.

Gohan let loose a cry that reverberated through peaks and valleys alike. The world blanked out, a blinding white canvas slow to fill again with even the most washed-out hues. Yet sight did return, and with it an unexpected surprise. Jealousy was green, depression blue, but he thought anger made people see red, not gold.

The confusion flickered away quickly as a snarl deep within him exploded to the surface, taking over his lungs and overriding everything else. He became the scream. He was the anguish that fueled the noise.

His father's death would not be in vain.

Kami would die.

* * *

2/14/2005, 12/7/2005 


	3. Chapter 2

Note: The characters depicted below are not mine, nor am I in any way legally associated with Dragonball Z, Akira Toriyama or their respective companies' shareholders.

_

* * *

_

_"Come to gawk at your lesser half again?" _

"_Some days I think it would be beneficial to be complete again. But it is for moments like this that I do not regret my decision to split."_

"_I'm hurt."_

"_Do try to keep the weeping and gnashing of teeth to a minimum, Piccolo. I'm not here for a battle of wills."_

"_I didn't think that you were. Why do we need to be in each other's physical presence when we can loathe each other mentally? Or have you ascended beyond that particular annoyance?"_

"_I feel as you feel. And you do give me the most severe migraines."_

"_Glad to know I'm good for something."_

"_Goku is dying."_

_Have we always been so blunt?_

_It will happen soon. _

_You should take your fortune telling act on the road. Why are you telling me this?_

_Because I am concerned for his family. For the boy. He will not take the event well. _

_Again, why tell me?_

_I know you, Piccolo. You may lie to yourself, but not me. You care for the boy. He will need guidance._

_Isn't that what Great Uncle Kami is for?_

_We may not be on speaking terms after this all plays out. You, on the other hand, have stepped in before. You have a link with him I will never have. He must survive this event. He must learn from it and he must flourish. _

_You make it sound like the end of--_

_--Of the world is upon us. It is. And the boy is a key player. _

_Isn't that always the case? What makes you think that I will have much of an impact on him?_

_What kind of a guardian would I be if I didn't know those whose lives are entrusted to me? For reasons I still don't fully understand, you left an impression on the boy's life. The sort of impression that doesn't fade with time… _

"_I am just as glad as you are to be separated, old fool."_

"_One of these days, Piccolo, we might both see the error of my ways."_

"_I thought Kami could do no wrong."_

"_Ah… but back then, I was still full of you."_

"_Don't bother making a personal call next time. The headaches are more than enough."_

"_But then how would I be able to gawk at my lesser half?"_

* * *

**Chasing the Sunset  
**by Lady Eldaelen

**Chapter 2**

Coincidentally or not, Gohan's presence was noticed by one, a loner more isolated than the average hermit. When he had first arrived, Piccolo thought the boy had sought him out on purpose. Gohan had done it occasionally since they returned from Namek. The slightly irregular visits had almost completely stopped when his father had returned home, but there had been a couple meetings since the start of the new year.

Just when Piccolo thought Gohan had forgotten about him, he would pop up with that uncanny smile and eardrum-grating whistle. He didn't care for the visits much, as they usually turned in to a couple of wasted meditation hours listening to the boy ramble on about what had been happening in his little world. Piccolo hadn't cared to learn much about the child when he had him for a year, and he hardly gave it a thought now. But on some level, he did not want the visits to end. When Goku returned, Piccolo had known that the boy would come around less and less often until he stopped altogether… and he almost felt disappointed. So far Gohan had proven him wrong and not completely forgotten about him, but he still didn't completely push aside the feeling that it might happen.

This particular day, however, Piccolo doubted that Gohan was coming to chat it up with Mr. Piccolo. He had serious doubts that Gohan even knew he was near. The boy was distracted beyond what Piccolo thought was possible anymore. The backbone he had personally ground into him had completely disappeared. All those long months spent teaching Gohan control had apparently been forgotten, along with his ability to sense everything from friends to potential threats.

It took Piccolo a moment to make the connection. He had felt Goku's passing, of course, understated though it was. The boy had not visited in months, not even to tell his old mentor of the virus that seized his father, but Piccolo had known anyways. Kami told him. They rarely spoke anymore, under even the most optimistic of circumstances, so when the old man had appeared by the lakeside a few months back, he had been noticeably intrigued by the visit. Annoyed, but intrigued all the same…

The boy's aura was manifesting itself, a visibly fuzzy platinum flame around a very distinct spark of invisible energy. The new spring grass rippled in time with the crescendo of wind building up around him. Piccolo blinked as he saw the boy's hair color flicker. It was so brief that he thought he caught a bit of the sun's glare until it happened again. And again.

It was unmistakable now, the frightening regularity of golden waves washing across the mass of dull black spikes. The aura was different too; bolts of energy tinting the platinum yellow, the growing translucent haze now a distinctly golden inferno. Nearby grass shriveled up and died, burning away as the energy expanded, multiplied and surrounded the boy further.

And then the boy let loose a cry that reverberated through peaks and valleys alike. Piccolo would never forget it, the sound etched permanently in his memories as blood trickled from his ears. He winced with pain, inadvertently missing the following flash of light with the strength of a small sun. When he finally dared to open his eyes, the boy was still there in front of him, but he was changed.

The expanding aura had concentrated, exponentially stronger and undeniably hostile. The hair color had stopped its wild fluctuations, coming to rest on a gold so dazzling it looked almost white. Backbone and control had snapped back in place, held together with a confidence Piccolo had never seen in the boy before.

He was looking at Power Reborn.

Clips of one-sided conversations bubbled through Piccolo's mind, a six-year-old's enthusiastic tale of his hero changing appearances right before his eyes. Becoming even more legendary. It seemed that he would follow in his father's footsteps even more closely than expected.

The boy turned around, small chips of dirt-encrusted rock floating in the gravitational pull of his own energy well. Although the piercing turquoise eyes passed over him only briefly, Piccolo felt as though he had been sliced in two. There was nothing good in that stare. No adoration. No camaraderie. Just anger. And pain.

Hardly a second passed, and without a word, the boy was airborne. Piccolo breathed a short sigh of relief that those emotions were not directed at him.

_Don't think you are getting off that easily, Piccolo. If you want to live, you better stop him._

Before the thoughts had fully formed, he had also jumped into the air, the voice of his other half echoing through his mind.

_If this is what you meant by not being on speaking terms, I'd hate to see your idea of a fist fight. _

_Do try to put some effort in the chase. If you haven't noticed, Gohan has had a bit of a speed increase. _

_It would be much easier to fly without a backseat driver, dear old dad. _

When at last the guardian fell silent, Piccolo indulged in His wishes and poured his all into the flight. It was easy to feel the boy; Gohan was making no effort to conceal his destination. Quicker than even he thought possible, the Lookout rose into view. He saw Gohan up ahead, out of reach. He would not make it in time.

_I hope you're prepared to hold your own for a bit. _

_I am ready for anything… The question is, are you?_

Piccolo purposely overshot the Lookout, hoping for a few precious moments to size up the situation. But the first blow came just as he started his descent. It took his breath away and he fell the last hundred meters to the Lookout's surface struggling just to keep breathing. The boy was there, a golden spotlight pulsing with intensity. His small stature nevertheless loomed over the crumpled figure of Kami.

"Why did you do it? Why did you let it happen?"

The boy was yelling, his voice streaked with desperation. He would not be leaving without an answer.

Every breath was painful now and Piccolo clutched his side, holding pressure against ribs that were not cracked, a lung that wasn't punctured. The old man would be fine if left alone long enough to heal himself, but somehow Piccolo doubted either of them would be so lucky.

_Why are you just standing around like an idiot? I did warn you this was going to happen for a reason, you know. _

_If you would attempt to block your pain, perhaps I might be able to work out a game plan. _

_Always the excuses. Here's an idea, son, don't get hit. _

The pain receded slightly, and with it came clarity of mind. Piccolo hated when He did that, forging a temporary alliance between their souls. It made him feel completed, made him feel whole, but the worst part was how comfortable it felt. He did not like sharing thought patterns with a part of something that had not wanted him to begin with. But this was Kami's way of giving him support. He had offered what he could, and now He would stay out of the way.

* * *

Gohan's energy was audible now, a tight electrical buzz more intimidating than ten live wires. Miniature lightning bolts, with just as much power as their larger counterparts, exploded around the golden sphere surrounding him. It was tempting death just to touch him, Piccolo knew, but he prepared to fight hand-to-hand all the same. 

The guardian wheezed lightly, exerting great control at being able to draw sufficient breath as it was. He was always ready to fight for his planet, for the inhabitants he guarded. But he could not consciously fight for himself, not anymore. Who was he to decide that his life was more valuable than the next? No, he had given up the will of self preservation long ago. He had prepared himself for death at any time, and with it, had allowed himself the ability to live his life at the mercies of Fate and Destiny -- which he found out was how it was supposed to be done anyways.

Not that Kami wanted to die… but he was ready if, for instance, Gohan were to kill him today. Which, at the moment, had a disturbingly high probability.

The boy took another step closer to him. Superheated air emanating off his form dried the clamminess out of Kami's skin and burned the inside of his nose straight down to his lungs with every painful breath. It was like stepping into a sacred tale of old; Kami was beholding a genuine burning bush. Fire raged, yet did not destroy its vessel.

But did it really preserve? No one ever recorded what happened to the bush after the flames died out. Had the awesome power been too much for the bush to handle? Had the fire damaged the delicate systems needed for life and growth to continue? Did the bush still flourish a day, ten days, ten weeks, ten years later? Was it part of the beginnings of an oasis there in the desert mountains? Or did the bush pay the ultimate sacrifice as fuel to the supernatural blaze? Maybe it did nothing but enrich the sandy soil with its ashes. No one could have asked more from a little bush.

Gohan was hurting, he could tell. Kami saw past the anger, through the hatred, deep down to the source of the furnace before him. It was all directed towards him. _He_ was the fuel. Until he was gone, Gohan's fire would not run out.

Kami wanted to comfort the boy, but nothing he could say would help the situation. He had knowingly sent the boy's father to his death. The boy was extraordinarily smart. Mature beyond his years. But even with his acute perceptions, Gohan could never possibly understand the full reasonings behind his father's death. He would never completely buy any explanation Kami gave him, because he was not Kami. Kami saw what others could not. It came with the job, simple as that. Some of his colleagues would not have agreed with his plan of action, but Kami did what he believed was for the betterment of not just his planet, but the entire universe. He had willingly sacrificed Goku now, in hopes of victory later on.

So Kami remained silent.

Gohan was upon him now, the tips of his soft soled shoes digging painfully into a broken rib. A scorching hand grabbed the front of his robes and Kami soon found himself upright and hanging by the proverbial threads. That one punch had taken him out of what little fight he would have put up.

Fortunately for the sake of his guardianship, there was another to fight for him. The product of his renouncement of self, one who always thought of staying alive. Piccolo.

* * *

A short flare of ki. Gohan's right palm glowed like a small star. The boy clenched his fist and it was away. The world disappeared only to return a slip second later. Piccolo wasn't sure how he managed to defer the blast away in time, but he had, and for the moment, Kami was safe. They were both safe. 

The boy was next to him now, eyes like daggers slicing venomous hatred straight through him.

"Stay out of this, Piccolo. I don't want to hurt you."

A bit of the dangerous edge was lost in his voice, as he always spoke the name with admiration. Piccolo could see this, and he took every precaution to lower the boy's defenses. With his acknowledgment came familiarity and they unconsciously slipped into the roles they had defined for themselves. Arms crossed over chest, Piccolo peered down at his student with offense.

"Use your head, Gohan. Need I remind you that the old fool and I are linked?"

A flicker of surprise. His eyes didn't have quite that murderous glare when they registered shock. Apparently they still had the same depth, though.

He wasn't thinking straight. Even as Gohan thought about not thinking straight, his mind continued jumping all over the place. Was Piccolo trying to confuse him? No, the words rang true; he remembered an explanation about their separation. Piccolo was calling him ignorant, then, putting him down, just like he always did. But Piccolo always pointed out his mistakes, so he could learn from them. So why did he speak? Piccolo never spoke without reason. What was he trying to do?

The guardian in his arm coughed, and Gohan remembered at once what Piccolo had interrupted.

His thoughts had taken a few seconds at the most. Then he was attacking, the elder tossed aside for a moment, just until this other nuisance was taken care of. But Piccolo had predicted his attack, and he was as prepared as he possibly could be up against Gohan's superior skills.

And superior they were. Every block reverberated through Piccolo's body. Bones cracked, flesh burned. Knowing the boy's fighting style as well as he did meant little when Gohan moved too fast to see.

The beating was devastatingly quick. Before he had time to properly register the pain, Gohan had stopped. Piccolo could only hope that the final blow would be as swift.

* * *

Kami was in agony. 

If it wasn't for the limited protection the Lookout offered to its inhabitants, he would have surely passed out from his injuries by now. But short of getting blasted point blank by a ki wave, there wasn't much that could kill the Guardian as long as he remained on the floating platform. If someone were to throw him off, however, that was another story. And at this point in time, Kami wasn't putting death by sudden stop at the end of a long fall past Son Gohan.

It had already been attempted once; fortunately Mr. Popo had been waiting nearby with his carpet to catch him before he'd fallen below Korin's place. Their return to the Lookout's surface was not welcomed warmly. Between feeling his own injuries and those of his counterpart, Kami was too worn out to crawl over the immobile form of his closest friend and gardener, still smoldering along with the carpet he'd been rescued with.

Piccolo was holding up surprisingly well. Gohan attacked Kami with frightening regularity, but Piccolo was still able to divert the attention back onto himself, sparing the elder half from too much of the boy's complete wrath. Deep down, he knew the game was nearing an end, for that's all it was, just a game. Either unwilling to follow through with the actual death, or simply enjoying breaking them both down, Gohan was toying with them.

Ignoring the chaos around him, closing out even the next blow to the head, Kami focused his energies onto Piccolo once more. Now, more than ever, they needed to work together. The attempt to empty his mind, feeble as it was, was felt by the other, and Kami immediately sensed Piccolo tense, his own mind sharpening.

He was in the middle of another one-sided exchange, dodging what blows he could, accepting the crunching bones and internal bruising from the blows that connected. The last one, a perfectly aimed uppercut, dislocated Piccolo's jaw and sent him reeling to the Lookout floor. He needed a new game plan.

"Why won't you both just die already!" Gohan screeched, landing roughly on the smooth white tiles. The ones below his feet immediately scorched to a crispy black. He was still a raging inferno, the unnatural golden glow casting long shadows in the noonday sun, everywhere but on him.

He wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole somewhere and recuperate, but Piccolo knew he had no such luxury. He tried to push himself off his cool tiled resting place, but found it impossible with his many injuries. He settled for hovering up and easing his body to a more vertical position instead, not even bothering to plant broken legs into any semblance of a stance. This far into the game, what was the point?

Gohan crossed the distance between himself and Kami, leaving a charred path following in his wake. He pulled the guardian up like a rag doll, and the guardian offered no resistance, dangling from torn and bloody robes. This was his chance to end it all. He didn't even have to think; the ki ball simply formed around his clenched fist on its own accord.

Piccolo watched the scene play out, steeling himself for the inevitable.

_So it ends just as it started. _

* * *

12/8/2005 


	4. Chapter 3

Note: The characters depicted below are not mine, nor am I in any way legally associated with Dragonball Z, Akira Toriyama or their respective companies' shareholders._

* * *

_

_Within hours of having their first child, they decided they wanted to have as many children as possible. The couple loved every happy gurgle, every fussy tantrum, every late night feeding, every diaper change. They had found their life's work: parenthood. _

_Weeks turned into months, months turned into years. Their daughter grew and their little family flourished, but it never expanded. Despite their secluded residence deep in the mountains, the couple spared no expense to try to find out why. Tests were run, specialists consulted. No answer was found. With their money reserves overextended, they were forced to accept the inconclusive results. _

_Then the call came. A friend of a friend had a relative with a city job. A home was needed for a troubled orphan, a repeat runaway, a child slipping through the cracks of the system. Just as it had been when their daughter was born, the couple knew that it was meant to be. There would be more tests, more specialists, but they would pass every exam with flying colors. Their daughter anticipated the new arrival with just as much excitement as her parents. She knew what it was like to be loved, and she wanted to share the experience. The spare room was cleared, a new coat of paint was applied, new furniture bought. _

_Today was the day. At long last, their family would be complete. She waited outside with her parents, nervously clutching the new stuffed bear she had picked out herself. A peace offering of sorts for who she hoped would be her new best friend. _

_A van turned onto their narrow dusty road. It pulled into their drive, sending a small plume of dry mountain dirt into the air. A woman got out of the driver's seat. Before walking around to the passenger's side she reached behind her and emerged again with an impossibly small suitcase._

_Had the bear in her arms not been of the stuffed persuasion, it might have been in noticeable distress as she nearly squeezed the fluff right out of it, waiting for the child to emerge. _

_And then they were four. _

_Smiling happily, the girl stepped forward, even before introductions and pleasantries began. She held out the bear as instructed, but she knew it would not be necessary. This was going to work out. _

"_Hi! My name is Lime. I've always wanted a sister."_

* * *

**Chasing the Sunset  
**by Lady Eldaelen

**Chapter 3**

She did not have to understand the finer points in ki detection to know that something was seriously wrong with her son. A dread so imminent and dire washed over her that she almost retched right there by the bed. A tiny spark ignited, flickered, then exploded somewhere deep inside. The emptiness left behind from her husband's sudden passing was momentarily filled. The other half of her family was still with her. She was not totally alone.

And he was in just as much distress as her.

Wiping the tears away with the back of her sleeve, she hurried out of the room, never glancing back.

* * *

Krillin spotted her first. Given her history, he had been expecting to see an emotional basket case, blubbery-eyed and hysterical. That's just how Chi Chi was when it came to her family. He was most definitely not prepared, however,to see the calm and collected Son Chi Chi that stood before them. 

Her cheeks were rosy and rather puffy, but her eyes were sharp and clear. Her voice was hoarse, further evidence of some intense crying, but her words were chosen carefully, thoughtfully, and with the same authority she always displayed.

"Something is wrong with Gohan. I would greatly appreciate someone going to check on him."

Krillin stood from his spot on the floor. He had felt helpless throughout the duration of Goku's sickness; there was no way he would pass up an opportunity to support the only family he had ever known. He was already to the door before Yamucha even got a clue.

"Gohan?" he queried, "What do you mean something's going to happen?"

An exasperated expression crossed Chi Chi's face. Not many dared to second-guess her, at least within earshot.

"I mean exactly what I said, Yamucha. Gohan left the house upset. I'm worried about him."

Chi Chi chose to ignore Yamucha as he rolled his eyes in frustration. As with many of Goku's friends, they had never really seen eye to eye with her. Chi Chi's family was her life, and for all intents and purposes, her husband had befriended a rather motley bunch of self-proclaimed loners. Yamucha, as a prime example was still single, and a bit on the selfish side. He just didn't understand her maternal behavior. And up until Bulma gave birth to baby Trunks (who was being watched by his grandmother no doubt) Chi Chi had often wondered what kind of parents any of them would make.

"His dad just died. Cut the kid some slack."

Then again, maybe that wasn't the best idea. Fresh tears sprang from her eyes. She crossed the living room with three swift steps and delivered a vicious backhand across his left cheek.

No one breathed.

Her hand remained against his face; it was trembling now, ever so slightly. The tears obstructed her vision, but she didn't brush them away. A part of her she didn't know existed wanted to completely obliterate the creature before her. How dare he speak so flippantly! What right did he think he had to even be here?

She drew her hand back and slapped him again; Yamucha had enough decency to take it quietly.

"Don't you ever speak about my family in that way again. You have no idea what it's like to worry about your child's safety," she glared in what hopefully was the right direction of his eyes, "No. Idea."

Yamucha cleared his throat a little, unable to meet even her blind teary-eyed stare.

"You, ah, you're right, Chi Chi," he confessed, "I'm s--"

He tensed, distracted. Someone was generating a lot of power. Too much power.

Krillin, still by the door, also felt the disturbance.

"It's Gohan, isn't it?" Chi Chi was on the verge of hysteria this time. A wild desperation filled her voice, overriding the carefully constructed emotional checks and balances. "What are you waiting for! Please!"

Krillin didn't even say goodbye. Yamucha shot a helpless glance at Bulma before following him out. As soon as they had cleared the lawn, Chi Chi's barriers completely dissolved. She sobbed openly and loudly, retreating at first to her room, then remembering the events of the morning, headed for the smaller bedroom across the hall. Gohan's room. Her new refuge of comfort.

* * *

Bulma could hear Chi Chi in the other room, the new widow's deep gut-wrenching sobs breaking the silence. A part of her wished to be with the others searching for Gohan, off to discover whatever peril Chi Chi had foretold. Why did she always get left behind? She wasn't any good here, consolation was not her forte. But she was hurting, too. She had known Goku longer than anyone, Chi Chi included. Losing him was like losing the brother she never had. 

With a sigh she unfroze herself from her spot on the couch, hand brushing against the still-warm seat Yamucha had occupied. She wasn't halfway to the hallway when the final witness to the somber day spoke.

"Please, Bulma, just let her be."

Funny, for a man of his size, the Ox King could disappear when he wanted to. Well, nothing could cover his size, but he had been there when Bulma had arrived, been there all morning, and yet she had forgotten about him _being_ there. Brain synapses firing on some unconscious level, she figured that Gohan must have gotten his quiet nature from the ox of a man in front of her. That child was far too soft-spoken for his own good. After spending a few months adventuring around alien planets in a sardine-sized space ship together, Bulma had always wondered where Gohan inherited his disposition from. Goku and Chi Chi weren't exactly quiet people.

She turned toward the behemoth of a man, his oxford shirt and suspenders a far cry from the superhero cape getup she'd first seen him in. Nodding once, she redirected herself towards the table, collapsing rather ungracefully into a chair. Ox swaggered over and took a seat across from her. His red-rimmed eyes were fogging his glasses, and he removed them at once, laying the enormous wire frames on the table.

They hadn't been seated for two minutes before the squirming began. Silence always unsettled her. Long periods of it nearly drove her mad. She was forever muttering to herself working in the lab, she listened to music in the shower, fell asleep with the television on. Even amidst personal danger, Bulma had never learned to keep her mouth shut.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, painfully aware of the lack of noise suffocating her. This wasn't the time for idle chatting, she chastised herself. Yet she could not keep herself from speaking, breaking the muted grasp that held her peace of mind.

"So… what happens now?"

The Ox King focused fuzzy vision on her. She had started this little conversation, she might as well continue it.

"I mean, aren't there people that need to be called? Isn't there paperwork or something that needs to be filled out when someone…" she couldn't bring herself to finish her thought. That would make it final. Goku would truly be gone forever.

Apparently Ox felt the same way. Pulling a hanky from the depths of one of his ample pockets, he methodically rubbed his glasses clean before settling them back on the bridge of nose and clearing his throat.

"Well, yes…" he started. "And no. I don't think Goku had any papers on his birth… it seems silly to have to fill them out now. All his family knows. I think we should wait and see what Chi Chi wants to do with… with his…"

"Nothing needs to be done."

"Chi Chi!"

Chi Chi stood in the doorway of Gohan's room. Her face was cold, void of any discernable emotion. Bulma shuddered. She had never seen the woman so detached.

"He's gone. I can't even bury my dead husband properly for the second time!"

Bulma gasped. She stood up so abruptly that the chair tipped on its side. It didn't take long to retrace her steps back to the bedroom. Her eyes scanned the empty space in disbelief. She had to feel the rapidly cooling sheets for herself, run a hand over the pillow's indention that cradled Goku's head. He wasn't there.

Bulma wiped a few of her own tears away. She wasn't sure what to do next. This wasn't like the last time. Goku wouldn't be coming back, right? But his body had disappeared, like last time… so maybe there was some chance…

No, there couldn't be another way. The only possibility was the dragonballs, and she had learned everything about them from their creators. Dragonballs were not strong enough to bring a person back more than once. Goku had been wished back already.

Chi Chi was still gripping the doorframe when she returned to the other room. A dry laugh escaped from her.

"Your brilliant mind had to see for yourself, huh? Do you think I would _lie_ about something like that?"

Embarrassed, Bulma was helpless to stem the rushing heat that blossomed across her cheeks. Despite being five years older, she always managed to come away from conversations with Chi Chi feeling very young, chastised like a little girl with her hand stuck in the cookie jar.

"Why is it that no one ever believes me? It's always, 'Oh, don't bother, it's just Chi Chi. The irrational overprotective mother. The harpy wife.'" She was ranting now, but she couldn't stop. She wouldn't stop.

She threw up her hands in disgust and began pacing the length of the room. The strip of carpet she walked over showed more signs of wear, as this had become common practice in the last five years.

"I mean, what kind of a person do they think I am, to think about the safety of my husband and son when they run around picking fights and destroying evil. Why should anyone worry about something like _that_, it's only life-threatening ninety-nine percent of the time! I guess that makes me the most horrible wife and mother in this kami-forsaken universe!"

Abruptly Chi Chi changed directions, veering towards the kitchen. Ignoring the Ox King's frantic flails out of his daughter's line of vision, Bulma fell in step behind her, anxious to try to calm her down.

"Chi Chi, we never thought like that--"

Chi Chi whirled around, eyes blazing with the fire of a small star. Her furrowed brow and sharp frown rivaled Vegeta's favorite expression, only, Bulma wasn't afraid of him anymore.

"You are a horrible liar, Bulma," she seethed. Then, as if seeing her for the first time, Chi Chi alternated between curiosity and the ultimate of disdain. "What are you even doing here?" She snatched the older woman's forearm and physically dragged her to the door. Wrenching the doorknob completely off in her anger, she was forced to half push, half kick the door open, all the while maintaining a wrestler's grip on the panicking scientist.

With a sharp crack, the broken door mechanism finally gave in, and the solid wooden door swung violently outward, drenching the room with glorious late-morning sunlight. Gentleness had lost all sense of meaning to her, and Chi Chi unceremoniously tossed Bulma as far as she could onto the front lawn. The years spent in marriage and motherhood after her last tournament had not drained her strength in the least. With a small shriek, Bulma bumped and skid across the grassy expanse, coming to rest face-down with a mouth full of dandelions.

Free of her unwanted houseguest, Chi Chi grabbed the abused front door and proceeded to swing it shut with so much force that it splintered and crumbled, uneven planks piled under its frame. Chi Chi paused with her back to the outside, hands balled into fists pressed rigidly to her sides. The steam was almost visibly rising from her reddened face. She closed her eyes and tried desperately to count to ten, but she couldn't remember what came after three. She could hear her father just inside the room, shuffling around. If he even tried to approach her right now, so help her Kami, she would not be held accountable by her future reactions.

Kami.

If only she knew how to get face-to-face with that wretched old fool… He'd had something against her since the day she was born. Her anger against everyone and everything that had happened in her life paled with what she felt towards the so-called lesser deity that ruled the planet.

* * *

Groaning, Bulma pulled herself upright and spit a mouthful of bitter weed stems to the side. Every joint ached, and she knew she would have some nasty bruises by nightfall. She quickly and methodically assessed her condition, and breathed a sigh of relief that everything that was supposed to was still moving, and nothing that wasn't supposed to wasn't. She was sore, but who wouldn't be after being used as a human shot-put by a Budoukai finalist? Her knees were grass-stained and rubbed raw, and there was no way her dry clean only dress would ever be the same again. She gingerly rubbed a hand through her hair, releasing the more visible grass blades. 

Kami, this was not her day.

A yell pierced the quiet afternoon stillness. Whatever birds and indigenous wildlife that hadn't been scared off from the breaking of the door had surely hightailed it out of the area now. And Bulma remembered that she wasn't the only one having a bad day.

"I hope you're happy, Kami!" Chi Chi exclaimed, stomping over the rubble that had once been her front door. She shook her fists in the air, cursing the heavens with every enraged swing. "You can cross me of your checklist, I'm finally admitting that I've hit rock bottom! You have officially wasted enough time making my life unbearable. Don't bother coming back for more." She glanced around, taking in Bulma still on the grass and her father peering out from inside the house. "Go ahead! There are witnesses to keep your reputation in tact! Strike me down, finish me off, I don't care anymore." She paused, glaring to the sky, arms raised and willingly offering herself to whatever punishment her blasphemous talk entitled.

But no wrath ensued, no lightning struck her down. Bulma was relieved to not have to witness the death of another Son, but apparently Chi Chi did not feel the same.

With a feral snarl she continued, her voice reaching such a fevered pitch that the surrounding background noise faded away, "Fine! I hope my son teaches you a lesson. Maybe then you'll leave us alone!" Her voice had just about given up, but she still managed a passionate show, forcing the volume up even more through the hoarseness. Chi Chi stomped back to the house, not even bothering to pick her way carefully around the mess of door; she simply kicked through the rubble. She whirled around one final time, her foot catching the end of a large plank, sending it flying across the yard past even where Bulma sat. With all the heart and soul that was left in her, she flourished her ultimatum as if delivering the closing monologue at the final showing of some long-running play.

Which, in many ways, she was.

"I am _through_ with you!"

* * *

Bulma watched with morbid fascination as Son Chi Chi ended her one way conversation with Kami and stalked back inside. Something in Chi Chi's last words gnawed at her. What had she thought Gohan would do? Had it been some reference to what she feared for him? Was he next on Kami's hit list? 

Ignoring her body's protesting at her all-too-sudden efforts of moving, Bulma forced her body upright. Hands fruitlessly smoothed over wrinkles and stains on her dress as she hurried as fast as possible back towards where she had been kicked out of.

"Chi Chi!" she called, hoping her boldness would not earn her another boot out of what was left of the door. The older woman stormed into view, the desperately wild glint still in her eye. It was downright incapacitating at such close proximity. Bulma recoiled slightly as Chi Chi planted her hands on her hips and waited impatiently for a response. Forget psychotic galactic dictators and unstable royal aliens, this woman was in a demoralizing class all her own.

"What! Bulma. What do you want!" Chi Chi's patience waned quick and thin.

So did Bulma's bravado. She was too young to die. Especially at the hands of an enraged housewife. How embarrassing. "I, uh…"

"Spit it out."

"G-Gohan wouldn't do anything… rash… w-would he?"

She didn't answer, instead she turned away, retracing her steps to wherever she had come from.

"Chi Chi, how do you know he went to see Kami?"

She paused, but didn't turn to face her. "Because I know my son… and that's what I would be doing if I knew the way."

"Chi Chi!"

"What!"

"Where are you going?"

"The breakfast dishes aren't going to clean themselves, you know."

She continued on her way to the kitchen, leaving Bulma completely mystified.

The Ox King remained standing, hunched over, by the sofa. Then, slowly, with less noise than Bulma expected, he crossed over to the kitchen and joined his daughter. She was left alone with her thoughts, but she hardly noticed the oppressive silence this time; her mind was working a mile a minute.

This could not be happening. An eight-year-old was not trying to take on a lesser god. Son of Goku or not, that just should not be allowed to happen! Even Vegeta, prince of all royal jerks, never had the nerve to do something so drastic. His biggest transgressions were destroying whole worlds with his pinkie, and more recently, trying to defeat an evil overlord that had destroyed his people and held him virtually captive for decades. No direct tampering with gods and guardians there.

Sweet, innocent, sensitive, little Gohan could not be out gunning after kami, _the_ Kami -- their Kami. But even as she stood there, dumfounded in her spot on the Son's living room floor, Bulma realized that if there was anyone who could be capable of such a feat, it was Gohan. Who else stood a chance physically and mentally? He had been trained personally by the guy's estranged other half, the only one who would know about his weaknesses -- if there were any to be had. And she had seen Gohan's resolve and focus on the way to Namek preparing for the unpreparable. She had heard the authority in his voice, ordering her to stay put as he and Krillin foiled the enemies' efforts. Watched him leave the ship as the planet self-destructed, knowing he was going to die if he stayed behind to help his father. If it hadn't been for Mr. Popo's wish with the Dragonballs back on Earth--

The Dragonballs.

Gohan was going after Kami.

If he went far enough --which Bulma realized now that he very well could-- there would be no more Dragonballs.

Bulma ran out of the house in a flash, rummaging through her pockets for her capsule plane. She threw the device ahead of her and it triggered with a faint _pfft_. Without slowing down, she reached blindly through the puff of decapsulation smoke for the door. In one fluid motion, she was inside, buckled up, and warming the engines.

Less than a minute later, she was flying north, destination: Capsule Corporation and her dragon radar.

* * *

1/12/2006 


	5. Chapter 4

Note: The characters depicted below are not mine, nor am I in any way legally associated with Dragonball Z, Akira Toriyama or their respective companies' shareholders.

Note the Second: This chapter is the last one to be entirely composed of my original nanowrimoing back in 2004. Anything after this will be pieced together in real time, so to speak. Verily, I am a slow writer.

* * *

"_Krillin, you have to do something."_

"_What do you mean, _me?_"_

"_Look here, buster, you were the one who said it was okay for him to come along in the first place."_

"_He wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer, Bulma. _I _certainly couldn't have stopped him from coming."_

"_Well since he _is_ here, you're in charge of him… and you better think up something to do with him, _fast_."_

"_What did you have in mind?"_

"_Me? Oh no, Krillin, I don't know what to do with a kid!"_

"_And what makes you think that I do?"_

"_Hmm… maybe because if you didn't know what to do with one, why in Kami's name would you ever agree to watch over one?" _

"_I'd like to see you tell Chi Chi that you weren't going to look after her only son as he trekked across the galaxy against her wishes."_

"_She knew better than to ask me. Goku's wife or not, _I _would have said no."_

"_Well, I couldn't have done that to any of the Sons. Besides, I haven't had any problems with him yet, have you?"_

"_No, he's been perfect… almost too perfect…I don't think kids that young are supposed to be so self-sufficient."_

"_He did spend a year living -no, pretty much just surviving- with Piccolo." _

"_Okay, so he's not your average kid… What kinds of stuff did you used to do growing up?"_

"_Let's see here… I meditated and prayed a lot… took lessons from the elder monks… gee, Bulma, I grew up in a _temple_, for Kami's sake. What did _you_ do at his age?" _

"_I was building my first capsule car with my dad."_

"_Right then. Neither one of us is qualified to handle small children."_

"_Yet thanks to you and your big mouth, we're stuck with one until we get those Dragonballs."_

"_Come on Bulma, it's not like he's bouncing off the walls or anything. It could be worse. " _

"_Chi Chi definitely taught the boy some manners. I guess you're right, it's not like I know that many kids anyways… although… I do know enough about kids to know that he should not be capable of doing that!"_

"_He's just reading, Bulma." _

"_Just reading, the short one says… yeah, he's just reading a copy of my father's _Mechanical and Conceptual Engineering Handbook for Professionals, the Definitive Edition_."_

"_So… what?"_

"_So what? _So what? _So _I _haven't even completely read through one chapter in that thing, that's what! It's as thick as your head! And he's halfway through it! Taking notes!" _

"_Alright, Bulma, calm down. No need to bite my head off. He didn't get the book from me." _

"_He said he was bored. I didn't think he'd actually read it." _

"_Didn't Chi Chi give him homework to do?"_

"_He did it all the first week."_

"_Really? Wow, that's impressive. Was it done right?"_

"_Yep, checked it all myself. He misspelled a couple of words on a history essay. And neither one of us could remember what year the current world government came into power." _

"_It wasn't in one of his textbooks?"_

"_He hasn't started world history yet."_

"_So why did he need to know?"_

"_He was writing _another _essay because he had finished everything else. No one should have to write historical analysis for fun, Krillin. That's why I gave him my travel resource library capsule. I just wasn't expecting him to pick the longest, driest piece of reading material to flip through."_

"_It's certainly not going to hurt him to read through some books." _

"_Krillin, we've still got two weeks on this tin can. And that's assuming we don't run into any problems whatsoever. I will personally go crazy if I have to watch a six-year-old read through that book." _

"_Actually, I think he's still five."_

* * *

**Chasing the Sunset**  
by Lady Eldaelen

**Chapter 4**

Krillin had never considered ki-detecting as his strongest asset. Sure, he was one of a handful of people on the planet who actually could read energy signals, but compared to some of the others, he didn't think he was that great at it. Krillin had always had a bit of a self esteem problem, and he struggled with it constantly, comparing himself to anyone and everyone.

He looked up to Tien, who always felt comfortable with himself, both in his weaknesses and limitations right along with his strengths. Chaotzu never let his size get in the way, even against the likes of guys like Nappa. Yamucha was too carefree to let things like that bother him. Master Roshi had so much experience and wisdom, it was hard to imagine him ever being insecure about anything. Bulma was the most self-absorbed person he knew; only she was allowed to bring up any of her flaws without getting smacked.

And then there was Goku. He still wasn't sure what Goku had ever seen in him as best friend material. He was thankful for the friendship, and would surely miss the camaraderie with him above all else. When he was around Goku, Krillin forgot to scrutinize himself. Goku had never made him feel inferior. Never, that is, until he did something so totally outrageous that everyone was left in the dust. Like that creepy mind reading back on Namek. And from what Gohan said, the whole Super Saiyan thing after he died. When Krillin heard that one… he never knew that Goku valued their relationship so strongly. _He_ did, of course, but Goku tended to treat everyone the same way. When Goku showed up with Gohan that first time at Master Roshi's, Krillin was kind of put out that Goku hadn't even told him about having a kid. Apparently he hadn't really told anyone, but Krillin didn't think that was something supposedly best friends kept from each other.

He was glad he got to know Gohan better, over their journey to Namek. Despite the circumstances that brought them and Bulma together on an ancient alien spaceship, he was grateful for the newfound friendship with Goku's son. They were cut from the same cloth, that became apparent almost immediately, but they were still so very different. Krillin had spent a lot of time talking with the kid about life and death, right and wrong, passing judgment, and all sorts of things Goku had never broached with him in their many years of friendship. He had watched Gohan struggle to find where he stood, what he wanted to fight for. It wasn't easy to see a kid that young make such heavy decisions, but he saw Goku's strength in his resolve. Saw his best friend's heart beating out of the kid with just as much determination. And then Krillin witnessed Gohan surpass his father, committing himself to the cause for the cause itself, not just to test his own abilities or try to turn his enemies around. He saw how the kid approached each battle, slow to burn, but once lit, he knew Gohan would never look back. He would not be as generous with second chances as his father.

* * *

The ki source ahead saturated his senses so much that he could barely register Yamucha flying just beside him. He almost couldn't get a reading on where Gohan was at first, because it felt like he was everywhere. Then Krillin felt him move, and he wasted no time in following the shifting signal. Yamucha, who was also having trouble making sense of Gohan's location, was too bewildered to do anything but follow Krillin's lead, gawking and muttering about the awesome energy that nearly blinded them.

Gohan was moving fast -too fast- and for a minute Krillin prepared himself to get lapped. Then the kid ceased traveling completely. Krillin was thrown off balance by the sudden stop. He halted, midair, feeling heat blast at his side as Yamucha passed nearly on top of him.

"What'd you stop for?" he cried.

Krillin shook his head, concentrating on the intense signal. He rotated completely around before taking off again in the direction they had just come from. "It's closer if we go this way. Gohan must have been on the other side of the world a few seconds ago. Come on!"

With a sigh Yamucha quickly blasted off, not wanting to lose sight of Krillin before he disappeared completely over the horizon.

Yamucha couldn't make out the finer details of what took place as they flew, but Krillin could. Though he underestimated his own abilities, his skills really were much finer than Yamucha's. He simply figured he was sensing what he could because of all the time he'd spent with the kid, inside one another's heads as they trained en route to Namek. Krillin witnessed a war, flying high above the clouds. He detected the slight jumps Gohan's ki took with every blow. It was brutal and it was quick. Krillin had long since come to appreciate the simplicity of Gohan's technique; when the kid fought with his all, it was elegant.

Yamucha was yelling to him now, impossible to decipher over the rush of wind as their own bodies disturbed the air they flew through. Krillin slowed down, glad to see Yamucha do the same thing.

"I said, are we really heading towards the Lookout?"

The blood drained to Krillin's feet. He checked the landscape below, the position of the sun, the direction of Gohan's strongest reading. They were indeed headed towards the sacred sanctuary of Earth's Guardian. And Krillin's senses finally accepted who Gohan was fighting.

"Krillin," Yamucha's eyes searched desperately for correction, "what is he doing?"

Krillin willed his blood to flow again, shrugging off his momentarily paralysis along with the question. This time he didn't bother waiting to make sure Yamucha was following.

* * *

Krillin slowed down as the Lookout came into view. Then he realized there was no way they would be able to hide, either he and Yamucha could help or they couldn't. Just as Yamucha stopped completely, he was off again.

"Hey! Hey Krillin! Shouldn't we make some sort of game plan? Krillin! Wait!"

Yamucha hurried to catch up to his friend, who slowed just long enough to look over his shoulder. "What kind of strategy would hold up against _that?_" He gestured ahead, towards the pulsing glow encompassing the Lookout.

"Point taken," Yamucha muttered. Why were his friends incapable of spending a day together without something threatening the world or someone dying?

Or both?

That last thought troubled him so much, he barely heeded the warning Krillin sounded out. Focusing on the scene ahead, he reacted just in time to catch whatever was hurling straight towards him. An unholy light filled his vision - a ki beam precisely aimed at him.

Yamucha flinched and rolled right, but there was no way he was going to dodge it in time - the thing was _huge_. He felt the blazing heat flash burn his skin; this was not going to be pleasant.

Still veering to the side, he heard more than saw Krillin let loose a blast of his own. One second passed… two seconds… he should have finished frying by now, what was going on? Yamucha braved a peek at the remains of his body, and instead found himself staring into the eyes of…

"Kami?" he whispered incredulously.

_Thank you, my son. Wherever did you get such impeccable timing? _

Yamucha was so startled, he almost dropped the guardian he carried.

* * *

He pulled his fist back, adjusting the angle of his elbow just enough to ensure a killing blow. His brain sent the signal to his arm and it began the short journey to Kami's chest. There was no turning back now…

_Are you truly prepared to kill me, too? _

Startled from the metal interruption, the fatal blow missed its mark, glancing off the side of the guardian's ribcage, burning yet another hole into the deep purple tunic. Enraged, Gohan swung the guardian around and released him like a javelin into the air, sending the enormous reserve of ki into a beam shooting after him.

He was upon the other now, floating just high enough to stare the demon in the eyes as he held him by the throat.

"Get out of my head, Piccolo."

_Make me. _

* * *

Relief at finding himself still whole was fleeting at best, quickly replaced by concern for his impromptu cargo. Kami's bruised and bleeding face was hardly recognizable, most of the deep emerald skin was discolored by ki burns. Limbs splayed out in unnatural positions, what parts of his clothing not burned away were drenched purple with his rapidly cooling blood.

Tears sprang to Yamucha's eyes as he cradled his sensei.

"What has he done to you?"

* * *

Blood pooled in his lower lids from a gash high on his forehead, tingeing the world a hazy lilac. The ever-increasing pressure around his neck was making his head swim even more than the combined effects of the previous blows. Despite the urge to succumb to the darkness creeping into his line of vision, Piccolo forced himself to keep his gaze fixed on the boy in front of him. On the twin chips of turquoise ice amidst the flames of hate.

The boy squeezed his fist, to the point of blocking blood flow. Shadow surged in from all sides until Piccolo could no longer see. It was unbearable now, the pain around his neck, too late to even grunt in discomfort. Nausea rolled over him, heralding the fatal slip into unconsciousness…

And then he was retching. Trying to roll over on broken arms and fractured ribs. Cool smooth tiles supported his head, wispy white clouds sweeping through a clear blue sky above. Then the choking gasps of a frightened little boy, mourning the loss of his father.

* * *

_Now is not the time, nor is it your place to judge. It will all be over soon. _

Yamucha frowned, but nodded at the god in understanding. "What do you want me to do?"

_Korin. Senzu. _

He blinked back his tears before descending, the top of the Lookout falling from view.

* * *

Krillin panted from the exertion of his hastily prepared blast. It almost hadn't been enough. He was almost too late to divert the beam of energy away from Yamucha. And was that Kami that Gohan had thrown? He watched as Yamucha descended below some clouds and out of sight, maybe he really had been hit by part of the blast. Krillin scanned the Lookout's surface, waiting for the next rogue attack.

Was Gohan holding Piccolo up? By the neck?

He could see Gohan's lips move, but the words were obscured by the light and noise of the golden shroud covering them both. Then the light flickered and died completely. Gohan's metallic wash was replaced by the familiar coloring Krillin was first introduced to. Piccolo dropped to the ground with a lifeless thud as Gohan released him. Krillin watched him take two steps back before dissolving into tears.

He almost missed catching the boy as he fell.

* * *

6/6/2011


End file.
